


I Need to Tell You

by OccasionalStorytelling



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Ambassador Garak, Angst, Crush, Fluff, Kidnapped Bashir, Letters, M/M, anxiety warning, feelings are uncomfortable, feelings? what are feelings, garak has feelings, post-season, repressing a crush, spoilers for Deep Space Nine, warning that julian is captured
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionalStorytelling/pseuds/OccasionalStorytelling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Garak left Deep Space Nine to help Cardassia Prime rebuild, he became the ambassador to the Federation, but he always made time to send Julian Bashir letters. Nothing so obviously flirting that Julian would understand what he wanted from their relationship, but maybe that last letter was a little bit too on-the-nose. But now, Julian has gone missing, and he didn't reply to the letter. Garak wants to call in every favor he's ever earned to find his Doctor... but what if his love is dead? Or worse, what if his love doesn't love him back? (Julian is not dead. Only kidnapped. But will Garak work that out in time to rescue him?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [message begins]

**[message begins]**

~~**Dear Garak,** ~~

~~**Keep it together, Julian. You can do this.** ~~

~~**My Dear Garak: I can’t help but notice that in your previous letter, you** ~~

**[Scribbled patterns over the following writing. The writing is unreadable. The scribbles fade into a scale design.]**

~~**Cards on the table, Garak. Did you really mean it?** ~~

**[message ends]**

“That’s all we could recover from the hardrive, sir,” the kid was saying. Garak didn’t even know his name, it was just some young Cardassian boy trying to cosy up to the ambassador to the Federation. Garak sighed, and dismissed the boy with an exasperated wave of his hand. The kid looked disappointed to not be needed further, then scurried from the room. God, how old was he? 16, 17? He was a child.

And Garak? He was old, older than spies should ever grow to be. Garak rubbed his fingers over the ridge down his nose. He pinched at the skin, and it hurt. He kept going. He really needed to stop, he told himself. Raiding Julian’s PADD? What was he thinking? Julian hadn’t been missing for long, and Garak had known that there wouldn’t be anything of use on the discarded PADD found in his room on DS9.

Garak had left Cardassia Prime the day he heard about the shuttle accident. He had arrived on DS9 a week later, and returned to his planet almost immediately. He had a taken a few things of Julian’s. Comforts, so that when the doctor was found he would have something to help him feel better.

When he was found. If he had really been kidnapped, because that wasn’t confirmed yet. Yet.

Maybe Julian had run away. Maybe he couldn’t handle being “out” as genetically engineered anymore. Maybe he was trying to take down Section 31, which Garak himself was having trouble finding. Maybe he was fine, and not at all captured or hurt or killed—

Oh my god. What if he’s been killed. Garak squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers pinched his forehead and blood came down in his eye. Shit. He had to clean himself up now before anyone came in. And god, he was supposed to help organize the latest agriculture efforts today. He couldn’t go, he wouldn’t be able to focus.

He should just push the thought out of his head. He was always good at compartmentalizing. This should be easy. But he thought of his love letter to Julian, and he fell apart. It wasn't really a love letter. Not by Human standards, at least, so there was no way Julian would have noticed. No way at all. There was no way for him to have noticed. He couldn’t have

He couldn’t have run away because he didn’t want to deal with Garak anymore

He was going to write back, and he seemed happy about it, if doubtful of Garak's feelings. Garak hadn’t moved for a while now. A drop of blood hit the carpet. Shit. That would have to be cleaned, and everyone would think he had tortured someone in his office. Julian would think that, if he heard.

If he wasn’t captured. Or ~~dead~~

Gee, thought Doctor Julian Bashir, it’s a good thing I’m not captured or dead. No, wait. Oops, almost slipped my mind for a moment.

(Sarcasm, once picked up, is a hard habit to break.)

He sat in the shreds of his uniform, handcuffed to the chair he had been thrown in. His eye itched from blood he hadn't blinked out of it. He sat in a spotlight. The rest of the room was in darkness.

Once his eyes had become used to the darkness, he could make out the cameras in the corners of the ceiling. He shifted a little bit. A form in the dark shifted too. So he wasn't alone, then. He kept quiet for a little longer, trying to glean as much information as he could from the bare, dark room. Eventually, his impatience got the better of him.

“Do you actually want me alive, or are you going to keep me here until I die from boredom?” He sighed. He was acting, of course, but it occurred to him that perhaps he wasn't very good at it. The figure didn’t move any more in the darkness in front of him.

“Are you at least going to ask me some questions, or wait until I soften up first?” He piped. _At least I’m not dead yet_ , he thought. “I was already in the Changeling prison. Yours is much more comfortable.”

“We can fix that for you if you would like,” said the figure. It was a low, deep voice. Julian shuddered a little.

“This is fine, thank you,” he mumbled. He shut up. He tested the handcuffs and tried to relax.

“This is NOT fine, thank you,” Garak seethed. He stood in the office of a Starfleet captain who was given the unhappy task of telling the ambassador that the search for Julian Bashir was being called off.

“We found a suicide note—” the Captain started, but Garak scoffed and cut him off.

“Do NOT patronize me, Captain,” he sniffed. “I know a lie when I hear one. They are my business, after all. Tell me why you’re abandoning Starfleet’s principle of ‘never leave an officer behind’ in this particular case.” He drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms. He let the look come over his eyes again, the one he’d sworn never to repeat. The look he gave prisoners in their interrogations.

The Captain squirmed. “Mr. Garak, we—”

“AMBASSADOR Garak. You WILL address me by my title and show me the proper respect.”

The Captain was getting fed up. “Ambassador, Starfleet is doing all it can right now just to help your people rebuild their home and defend ourselves from the last of the Jem’Hadar.”

Garak wanted to scream when the man fumbled his pronunciation. Julian always tried to pronounce things properly, at least his Julian always made the effort—

“And frankly, ambassador, he was a Genny anyway. No one wants to waste resources on finding some hoity-toity—”

Garak slammed his fist on the table now, commanding all the power he once had. He took a deep breath, smoothed down his hair, and stood back a little. The Captain was visibly shaken. Garak smiled.

“I’m sorry, but I thought Starfleet was more civilized than to resort to name-calling. Haven’t we moved past the discrimination of genetically enhanced individuals?”

The Captain laughed, then tried to suppress it when he saw Garak’s face. “He was barely allowed to keep his Doctoring license once he got outed,” Captain said.

Garak kept himself calm. It wasn’t as if he cared about the issue, anyway. He didn’t particularly care at all for the young doctor with his sentimental nature and pleasing smile and absolute lack of grace. This is what he told himself as he stood, facing the Captain with a glare.

“Nice to see how Starfleet treats its… components… when they are found unworthy,” Garak sneered. The Captain would probably take this information to mean that Cardassia was concerned about the security of its position. He well knew that Cardassia distrusted the Federation, and now the implication was that Cardassia would not join the Federation. The Captain took this whole conversation to now be about Cardassia, not the doctor about which it had begun. “Name-calling” now referred to the slang “Cardys.” Garak’s position was now safe and well within the bounds of concern for the State. Garak breathed a little bit easier. It wouldn’t do for an ambassador to seem so concerned over a Federation nobody.

The Captain was now more embarrassed than ever, thinking that he had only too late realized the true point of the discussion. “We will of course do everything in our power to protect all Federation citizens,” he quickly covered. Garak only stayed long enough to make certain that another search party would be sent out before stalking out of the nervous Captain’s office.


	2. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Captain referenced in this chapter is not the same Captain of the previous chapter; it's meant to be a parallel between the two sides of the story, but it is not the same person at all.

Julian lazily blinked back into consciousness. The room was unchanged, but the figure he had seen earlier was gone. The cameras seemed to be still running. The light was bright against his sleep-crusted eyes. He tried to rub them with his fist. The handcuffs clinked against the chair. Oh. Right.

He glanced around as best as he could, let his eyes get adjusted to the darkness. There was nothing happening. No sounds he could pick up outside his own breathing. It was almost a relief. For once, there was nothing to be aware of… it was almost a break from his normal life. He almost considered smiling, but decided against it. Taunting could wait until he learned more about his “host.”

He started counting. He hadn’t done it in ages, not since he had first met Garak. No, not since the Changeling prison. No—not since his secret had been forcibly revealed to the whole universe. Counting always calmed him down. His favorite was Happy numbers, because you had to test each number individually and remember them all. He would count and count, and his genetically-enhanced brain would buzz and buzz, unable to focus on anything but the counting. It distracted him when he was stressed out or scared. What was he up to?

14\. Square the digits, add them together. 1 + 16. 17. Square the digits, add them together. 1 + 49. 50: 25 + 0. 25: 4 + 25. 29: 4 + 81. 85:

The room was absolutely silent. 85: 64 + 25. 89.

The good thing about Happy Numbers was that you could run them forever, until you got to 1 as your answer. That was why he’d only made it to 14 so far.

89: 64 + 81. 145.

The light flickered overhead. Julian blinked a little more blood from his eye.

145: 1 + 16 + 25. 42.

Julian wasn’t scared. Not really. He’d been in worse situations before.

42: 16 + 4. 20: 4 + 0. 4 wasn’t Happy. Time for 15.

The calculations ran in his mind as the time passed uncounted.

Didn’t villains usually want something by now? To talk, or brag, or film some sort of video as proof?

15: 1 + 25. 26.

Julian regulated his sweat so that he wouldn't seem nervous on the cameras. Funny, how you can learn to do things like regulate your sweat when you’re alone for long enough. And genetically engineered. He’d spent his childhood alone, and he was alone now.

The irony.

26: 4 + 36. 40: 16 + 0. 16.

This was good, he could knock out 15 and 16 at the same time. He wasn’t scared. Not really. He wondered where he was.

16: 1 + …

He wasn’t scared. Not really. All he had to do was wait and someone would come find him. Ezri maybe, or…no, Garak was too busy with ambassadorial things. Better not get his hopes up.

Julian wasn’t scared. Well, not that scared.

He couldn’t even focus on counting. Huh. That was a new one. He put himself back to sleep, and his last thought before unconsciousness came was that he wasn’t really hiding from his fear, he was just trying to pass the time…

Garak sat in his office and counted. How many people could he call? There weren’t many useful contacts left on Cardassia. He could contact Quark, but that Ferengi would only help him for a profit. Ezri was who-knows-where, and Garak assumed she would rather not talk about her ex-boyfriend just yet. He was puzzled. He generally had more going for him than this. But if it was to be only him, he could write some strongly worded letters to Starfleet himself if he had to.

Or he could cash in the food credits he had saved up. He could ask a woman he knew to look the other way. No one would miss one of the old Cardassian shuttles. He could go searching for Julian on his own.

He dismissed the thought. How would he look for him? He could set the computer to plot likely trajectories from the explosion site. What had happened in that supposed shuttle accident, anyway?

He was halfway through the official report before he forced himself to set it down. He couldn’t barge into Julian’s life whenever he felt like it. Julian could have gone underground purposefully; Garak certainly had before. The explosion seemed like a normal explosion, and no escape pods were launched. He wouldn’t have committed suicide, that wasn’t like him. Not at all. He was probably fine. And if he wasn’t, Starfleet would find him.

Garak returned to an agricultural report and wondered when he’d gotten so good at lying to himself.

Meanwhile, another Elim Garak was watching a security camera of a Doctor in a dark room. He wasn’t from this universe. The Doctor fit, but Elim did not. He scratched at a long scar running down his face and shifted in his uniform. He hadn’t come here to watch Bashir sleep, he thought.

“Wake him up,” Elim said. A guard nearby jerked to attention, saluted, and rushed off. Elim watched the screen as the stimulant gas flooded into the room. Bashir jerked awake inside, and glanced around.

That’s odd, Julian thought. His internal clock said he had only been out for five minutes, but he had set up enough hormones to let him sleep for a couple hours. He sniffed at the air.

He’ll be smelling the gas now, the wrong Elim thought.

That’s gas, Julian thought. So I’m supposed to be awake and just sit here. This would be the “breaking me,” then.

“He isn’t stupid. He knows we’re trying to break him,” hissed the wrong Elim at another guard. Sometimes Elim wondered if there were so many guards in the control center to protect the Captain from Elim, not the other way around. He would laugh at himself. Of course that was the case! The Captain had stayed in command long enough to know how to stay alive. Although it was hell having to report to a Terran, Elim did so with a smile. Elim also know how to stay alive.

“I’m going to interrogate him,” said Elim, “But we can’t let him see me face to face. Set up a screen in there that he can read. Don’t let him see what species you are. I want full body suits, and airtight ones. He’ll be able to smell you, he’s been designed that way.” Various guards nodded, but didn’t move. One used the comms to signal another division, but never took his eyes off Elim.

Elim settled back into his chair. He could afford the indignities now. It wouldn’t be long before, if all went well, he had command of his own ship. He watched the cameras as the guards set up the screen. Bashir just sat there, watching them. He’s sharp, Elim thought. Shame.

“Message from the Captain, sir,” one of the guards was saying. Elim acknowledged it with a wave and hit his view screen with a fist. The Captain’s image popped into view. Elim repressed a sneer. Terrans. They were so… plain. Ugly. Disgusting, really.

“Set a course for the nebula,” the Captain was saying.

“Which nebula?” Garak smiled, indulgently. His eyes shone with hate.

The Captain was angry. “The nebula! The one I’ve been thinking about for 5 minutes now!”

“Captain, you know we can’t—”

“I’ve sent you the coordinates, there HAS to be one there. There HAS to be.” The Captain was angry, but the Captain was always angry. Garak checked his console. There were coordinates now, just coming through as the Captain spoke.

“Setting course now,” Garak smiled. The Captain clicked off without another word. Garak hated abasing himself before the Captain, but he wanted to survive, so he kept a smile planted on his face as the ship warped off into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be referring to the evil Garak as Elim and the nice one (the one who's in love with Julian) as Garak, to keep consistency. Except at the end there. At the end, I was calling him Garak even though I should not have. Sorry. If you can't follow along, please let me know-- I'll be more clear about it soon, but for now I'm avoiding paragraph breaks with lines because they're inconvenient. Get ready for a wild ride, guys!


	3. Near Miss

And so, the story so far: Garak on one side of the galaxy, his Julian who-knows-where with an Elim from who-knows-where.

And Garak is stealing a ship.

He had thought he would never do this again, but here he was, with an elaborate cover and a beautiful lie. He was here, with a purpose of his own, pretending to be someone else. It didn’t matter that his mission was his own. It felt wrong.

The lie: The ambassador has urgent business. He is going to raise funds all over the Federation and acquire more replicators for a planet in dire need. The secret: The ambassador was actually traversing the whole alpha quadrant in search of an ally more useful to Cardassia than the Federation. The young man working at the hangar entrance was all-too-excited to be granted with this closely guarded secret, and Garak was immediately let through to a ship with enough provisions (he had ordered it restocked) and enough power (just a couple minor photon torpedoes and a cloaking device) to let him accomplish his task.

The true secret, the real reason why Garak had gone to all this trouble: Garak was—

Definitely not looking for his friend. That would be absurd! What cared the ambassador for a friend of his past life? He merely wanted to scope out the galaxy to have an exit plan for when his ambassadorial position went south. If he wanted to think his job would never go south, he would remember his childhood and when, years later, he was exiled. He would shudder at the memory. He never wanted to be without a backup plan again.

Garak was—

Definitely not looking for Julian, his Julian. Oh, his Julian. He was so human, and Garak could hardly believe he thought that was a compliment. Julian was so wonderfully perfect, if sentimental, but Julian was always there to talk and argue and have opinions that no proper Cardassian would ever have. Garak would quiver a little inside, unable to believe what the human was saying. Oh, but he would always lean a little bit closer to hear more of that sweet, seditious talk.

Garak was in no way, shape, or form looking for Julian. However much he wanted to. No matter how much the thought of Julian needing him consumed his life. No, Garak was putting the State before all and himself only just behind the State.

Garak could eventually work out how rescuing Julian from wherever he was would count as Duty to the State. He would have plenty of time to think while on his ship. Alone. With no one to make sure he was doing what he was supposed to be doing.

Garak was definitely not looking for Julian, he would tell you. And so he would tell himself.

It wasn’t until he was far out into space, much too far to turn back, that he let himself wonder. If he wasn’t looking for Julian, why was he alone? Why had he snuck out in secret? Why was he heading towards the site of the supposed explosion that killed Julian?

If he had enough time, he would come up with a convincing lie that would even work on himself. He would have had enough time, too. But it was then that the proximity alarms went off.

“There’s a ship nearby,” said Elim. He had activated the screen to the Captain, who was now glowering out from the tiny cube.

“It can’t be our hosts yet,” the Captain frowned. “There hasn’t been enough time for them to get the message.”

Elim stared at the strange ship. He almost recognized it… it seemed like a ship from a different world, but one populated with your own people. Elim shook himself a little, and scratched at his neck. This feeling was to be expected. Everything here was almost familiar, but not quite. He blinked to the security camera footage where the prisoner was beginning to get anxious. He almost laughed, but the Captain would have caught it. 

The Captain picked up on his microexpression, however. “What is it, Elim?” He snapped.

Elim startled. “Nothing, sir. It’s just that…it’s strange to be in a universe where I could start a new life, if I had the chance. Be free...” The lie must have been transparent, but it was the best Elim had on short notice.

The Captain laughed his awful laugh. It was harsh, grating, and condescending. The Captain didn’t have emotions, but he faked it for morale. “Morale” meaning “instilling fear in the crew.” 

“Elim, you speak as if you weren’t eternally in my debt after I rescued you from your previous masters!”

“The term ‘previous’ implies that I currently have a master,” Elim hissed. He glared into the screen as the Captain continued his facsimile of a laugh.

“Elim, I picked you because you were pretty. You are still alive because you are useful. Do not think you are free while you remain in my service,” the Captain said.

Elim bowed his head, and smiled to the best of his capability. The Captain smirked and shut off his screen. Elim glanced around at the guards and nearly screamed in frustration.

He remembered the ship. He checked it on the screen once more, then motioned the navigation to continue course. The ship couldn’t detect them, anyway. Nothing would happen. He glanced back to the prisoner in the cargo hold and let out a deep breath. His smile was genuine now—it was nice to be in control of something, however small a thing it may be. He fidgeted with his ring. The ship moved on.

As abruptly as it had come on, the alarms shut off in Garak’s ship. He wanted to smack the console, if he thought it would help. He scratched at his hair, pushing a strand back into place. The alarms shouldn't do that. If a ship had been cloaked nearby, the alarms would have linked him to the readout of the ship’s position. The alarms didn’t go off for no reason.

Perhaps they were malfunctioning. Garak cursed. Of all the ships, he had picked a broken one?

But no, the whole ship had just been rechecked before he left. Garak fidgeted with some dials, then sighed and leaned back. He continued on to the explosion site with an uneasy feeling in his heart. Above him, Elim’s ship silently glided away.


	4. Horrible Experience

Julian was beginning to get anxious. He had been fearful for a while now. Afraid of the darkness. The gas, colored enough that he could see it worming its way into his nose to keep him awake. The men, setting up a screen. The figure. Now, the doctor was getting anxious.

Fear: an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that something is dangerous, painful, or likely to cause a threat. Fear, when you know what it is and it’s right there and you are frightened.

Anxiety: anticipation of fear. Worry, nervousness. Anxiety, when you know exactly what it is in excruciating detail but it isn’t happening yet. It isn’t happening yet, so when?

Julian was stuck here, wherever here was. He kept himself from being afraid for as long as possible. When that was no longer possible, he kept himself calm by keeping the anxiety at bay. He was in for it now. He played it up for the cameras. He sweat a little more, he fidgeted more. Better to pretend to be more helpless than he was, and hope he would never reach the state he appeared to be in.

Julian did not know who the figure was who had been in the room before, and he couldn’t even tell the species of the workers who had set up the screen. The screen was blank. Julian concentrated on the blankness. “Clear your mind, Julian,” he thought. “You’re going to be fine.”

He didn’t tell himself that he would make it out. Too unbelievable. But he would survive, and he would eventually be fine.

Elim saw the prisoner’s nervousness on the screen, and he smiled. He punched a button.

The screen in front of Julian lit up. Julian stared into it, and did his best to remain motionless.

“WELCOME HONORED GUEST,” came a message. Julian almost snorted. It was the hysterics that was pushing him to it, maybe. Or the fact that he hadn’t slept in 14 hours, 26 minutes, and 3 seconds, since the gas came on. An internal clock was a blessing and a curse.

WE SUPPOSE YOU ARE CURIOUS AS TO WHERE YOU ARE

Now that he thought about it, how long had it been since he’d been captured? He couldn’t pin down an exact time. That was odd… he’s never encountered anything of the sort before.

YOU ARE: JULIAN SUBATOI BASHIR

He was distracting himself from the sign. He knew he was. Which Fibonnacci was he up to? He couldn’t remember. That was even more odd. Perhaps he was tired.

CONFIRM

What? What the hell was that supposed to mean? What was he supposed to do? He continued to sit there. Why couldn’t he remember what number he was up to? He desperately wanted to count.

CONFIRM the screen blinked once, and Julian’s nose beat with a spike of pain.

The gas. It was something in the gas, something he couldn’t compensate for and his body was shutting down, that had to be it.

CONFIRM, and another spike of pain. Sharper. Still confined mainly to his nose, but definitely spreading. It was the gas. It had to be. Or maybe it wasn’t, and the gas was all he could think about because something else was affecting his mind—

CONFIRM

“Ow!” he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but that one had been worse. “How? How the fuck do I confirm?!?”

WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE, blinked the screen.

Julian blinked back, blankly. What was happening?

VOICE ANALYSIS CONFIRMATION. WELCOME, JULIAN SUBATOI BASHIR

They had confirmed his voice to confirm his identity. They must have a comparison, then, to make the confirmation with. Who had he recorded his voice for? Starfleet. The Federation. These people couldn’t be them, it didn’t fit. Section 31? Wouldn’t bother capturing him. Who?

YOU MAY BE HERE FOR QUITE SOME TIME

Who had stolen records from Starfleet recently? He couldn’t remember, dammit, and it must have been the gas.

SO PLEASE TRY TO GET COMFORTABLE

Julian laughed at that one. Maybe it was the gas that sent him into hysterics. Maybe he was already on the breaking point. But he crinkled his face, felt the blood on it, and clinked the handcuffs against the chair he was in, and laughed.

Elim nearly stopped at the laugh. God, that was creepy. It seemed real, but then… No, Elim, you have to focus. Get him to say something, anything. Convince him that the Federation had captured him. How was he supposed to do that? The Captain hadn’t given him any information, and the ship didn’t have anything from this universe on file. He knew nothing about the Federation. How was he to pretend to be a member of it? His fingers hesitated over the keys for a moment.

YES. WE ARE ALL VERY AMUSED

The laugh got stronger. Elim twitched. This was awful. This wasn’t an interrogation, this was a comedy. Elim was breaking down.

Julian sucked in a deep breath, and blinked at the tears in his eyes as he kept laughing. What was in this gas? At least it seemed to have the person behind the screen off guard. He kept laughing, and he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

Elim shuddered as he watched the spectacle. He shut down the screen, swore, and flood the room with more gas.

Julian sniffed through the giggles. New gas? Yes, definitely. It hit him like a sack of bricks to the side of his head, and he sank into unconsciousness. “They should be better able to handle this,” was his last thought. It accompanied one last chuckle, and the black room gave way to a darker black.

“You did WHAT?!?!?!” The Captain was yelling. Elim kept his head held high.

“Sir, we expected this. I am emotionally compromised, and I’m telling you that I will not be able to properly complete the task you have assigned me.” Elim kept his cool on the outside. Inside, he was screaming and tearing down the walls of this ship, being sucked into the blessed, black, vacuum—

“Are you saying I need a new First Officer?” the Captain shrieked. It struck Elim that moments like this made the Captain seem even more crazy than normal.

“Captain, I am saying that we should proceed to our second plan, as you predicted,” Elim soothed. His tone was sweet. His words a lie meant to make the Captain feel self-centered, as if it were possible to make the git MORE self—

“MY plan, you mean, Elim!” the Captain screamed. “And I will complete it myself as you have once again proved to be incompetent!”

Elim sighed. The Captain would now storm down to the cargo bay’s makeshift prison and attempt to conclude the “interrogation” himself. Elim flopped back into his chair and told himself that at least he wouldn’t have to deal with that infernal Doctor anymore. God. It was just too creepy. He wished he could return to their native universe. This mirror one was too creepy.

Why was the Captain even bothering with this? What he wanted to know would have to be learned in surgery or an autopsy, not an investigation. Elim wished the Captain would kill the prisoner, let Elim dissect him, and they could all move on with their lives. But the Captain was walking to the “prison” and was going to talk to the prisoner.

Elim could imagine it. The Captain, uniform all over the place and hair worse, striding down the hall. Going out of his way to push other people away from his path. Reaching the cargo bay. Unlocking the door. The guards warning him about the gas, the Captain ignoring them and dismissing them with a wave. The Captain waving at the air to clear it. The guards collapsing from the remnants that escaped into the hallway. The Captain shrugging it off and striding into the room, his presence filling it with his ego.

Julian awoke to light, bright light. He squinted his eyes as some sort of person came through. Tall, skinny, ugh, and with horrible hair. Had he never seen a brush? Body type, that was all he could make out for now—was this the figure who had sat in the room earlier? No, no way. Julian’s eyes adjusted as the Captain blocked out the hallway light.

Julian stared into the face of the Captain, and it was like staring into a mirror. “No,” he whispered.

“Oh yes,” said another Julian Bashir. A Bashir of pain and blood and craziness. A mirror image.

Julian recoiled a little. He’d heard of the mirror universe from Sisko and Dax before, but even when he’d visited, he’d gotten to avoid his mirror double. This was who he faced now, handcuffed to a chair in a strange room.

“My universe or yours?” Julian asked.

“Like I’d tell you,” said Captain Bashir with a snort. He leaned down next to Julian, way too close.

“So this is what my breath would smell like if I’d never brushed my teeth,” Julian thought. He blinked, and tried to calm down. This was impossible, this was—

“Why don’t I work?” Captain Bashir breathed. Julian wasn’t quite sure he’d heard, it had been so soft.

“What?”

“I know you heard me! Your hearing is just as advanced as mine. But why do you work?” Captain Bashir stared intently into Julian’s eyes. Julian gulped. Dear god. This was going to be a horrible experience, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it was unclear: this is the Captain Bashir of the alternate universe, but one where he survives long enough to take power. How? I guess we'll have to wait for the next chapter...! Once more: Elim = mirror, Garak = good. Captain Bashir = mirror, Julian = currently captured not-mirror


	5. Backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just some explanation of the situation with the mirror universe, but not the whole explanation. It wouldn't be a surprise if I just told you everything, would it? There is very little connection to the canon Mirror universe, but there is a little. The idea for why Captain Bashir was genetically engineered was based off the story "Light Refracted" by Seraphtrevs. It really was a good story. The quote that inspired me was “I was born defective, but some Bajoran scientists thought I'd make a good test subject for their genetic augmentation experiments. The treatment worked, but it made me insane. That's why they got rid of me.” Thank you Seraphtrevs for a good concept! I didn't use the exact idea; I did work with it a little bit, but the credit is not mine.

“I’m going to be honest, here,” Julian said. He drew himself up as much as he could in the chair, and pressed his lips together. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

Captain Bashir clenched his fists and snarled. He stated pacing back and forth. “You have it, right? They did it to you?” He was gesticulating wildly around his face.

“Oh my god,” Julian gasped. The realization hit him, and Captain Bashir smiled evilly to see the shock on Julian’s face.

“You have it too,” Captain Bashir grinned. It didn’t seem real. It was like he was faking it to see how Julian would react.

“How? In your universe, humans are—”

“Terrans are an inferior race, yes,” Captain Bashir interrupted. He continued waving his hands around frantically. It reminded Julian of Jack.

Jack had been genetically engineered, like Julian, but not quite the same. Julian had been done by a doctor who knew what he was doing and when to pull back. Jack, along with Sarina, Patrick, and Lauren had all been messed up when their doctors tried to create a more perfect human. Julian could function in normal society. Jack and his pack could not. Julian had tried to help them, but Jack was paranoid, violent, and he didn’t really…understand humanity. Jack waved his hands like that when he was angry or stressed out, which was all the time.

“Why would someone—” Julian tried again.

“—Waste a perfectly good gene reconfiguration on a Terran?” Captain Bashir wasn’t even looking at Julian anymore. He stared at the ground as if he could bore holes in it with his eyes.

“That wasn’t the phrasing I would have used, but—”

“But that’s what you meant!” Captain Bashir turned and angrily pointed a figure into Julian’s face.

“Sure,” Julian sighed. “Yes. Why—no, how did you get genetically engineered?”

Captain Bashir fidgeted. “I was 5 years old,” he said, softer. “I was already stuck in Terrak Nor. I don’t know how I got there. I think my mother must have abandoned me… Records say I wasn’t too smart, so I was caught by the Cardassian authorities almost immediately.”

Julian’s breath caught in his throat. God, this was awful. How could he complain about his own life now? It could have been so much worse…

Captain Bashir was leaning in closer, and his face was blank. Did he even care about the horror he was telling? It was like he was narrating someone else’s life. “They had been in the middle of some delicate procedures. They needed a test subject. There were five of us, the reports said. I dug them up later, when I got this command. I was the only one who lived. The treatment was supposed to help Cardassians live better lives and be even more ‘perfect,’ I suppose. The program was stopped when the doctors realized I was insane. I was dumped into an airlock, right as a ship was pulling into it. My enhanced lungs kept me alive. The captain said he would dump my body into space, and he was allowed to keep me there. I was unconscious for a couple days, probably they were drugging me or something. I woke up in a cave underground in a rebellion, and I grew up there. I became a Captain, and when we stole enough ships, I was given this one. My first officer is actually a prisoner like you. He’s got a ring, and I have a matching one. His has a poison needle that I can activate at any time. It will take a very long, painful time to kill him.”

Julian had slowly leaned as far back as he could in his seat, but he was still almost touching noses with Captain Bashir. “Insane?” he eventually asked.

“Yes,” Captain Bashir pulled back, and Julian breathed easier. “I don’t feel things like other people do, but I hear things they don’t. See things they don’t. I can’t relate to them. And I’m told I’m more violent than others, but in my universe, that’s a positive thing.”

Julian gulped. “And why do you need me?” His tone dropped. He sounded defeated, but it wasn’t that… it was something much worse. He felt bad for his mirror self, and he wanted to help him. Stockholme Syndrome? He hoped not. That would be weird.

“Why do you work?” Captain Bashir repeated his first question.

“You want me to—”

“I want you to find how our genetic code is different. You’re a doctor. Do something. Fix me. You work right. I want to work right.” Captain Bashir’s hands were clenched, and his voice sounded pained.

“You came all this way just to kidnap me and ask me to help you function in society?” Julian asked. He did feel sorry for Captain Bashir, and he was a doctor. He had taken an oath to help everyone who needed help, no matter what, and Captain Bashir applied.

“No, we were coming to your universe anyway,” Captain Bashir said. “Urgent business. This was just a bonus.”

“And if I don’t help you?” Julian asked it out of habit, but he knew he was going to try to do something for Captain Bashir, at least to help him manage his mental health.

“Oh. I’m probably going to dissect you if you fail,” said Captain Bashir. “Pick through your brain. Maybe get something out of it.”

Julian got chills. So this was happening, then… he tried to calm down, but his heart was starting to speed up its rhythm.

“I dunno. Then I wouldn’t have anyone who understands me anymore. Don’t fail. It would suck to kill you.” Captain Bashir shrugged, and started to walk out of the room. “We’ll set you up with some kind of lab tomorrow, and you can get started.”

Julian acknowledged this with a slight nod, his eyes locked on his double. It’s okay, Julian, he told himself. You can do this. You’ve never failed a patient before when you’ve had time and proper materials, and you can do this now.

Captain Bashir paused in the doorway. “I think I’m going to have to kill you either way, regardless of whether or not you succeed,” he added. “Just warning you.” He closed the door behind him and the room was in complete blackness once again.

In the control center of the ship, Elim fiddled with his ring and turned off the security camera with a sneer.

In a small ship far away, Garak arrived at the spot where Julian’s shuttle had exploded. There was nothing there now, nothing but some trace elements of dilithium. The wreckage had all been taken to Starfleet headquarters.

“Computer, trace all possible paths an escape shuttle could have taken if launched from this site.”

A small purple circle popped up on the console. There weren’t any habitable planets in range.

“Account for the force of an explosion that would have destroyed the host ship.”

The circle blinked, but remained unchanged. ALREADY ACCOUNTED FOR, came the computer's female voice. Garak cursed. He didn’t know what he was expecting. He didn’t know what to do now. He turned back and set his ship on a course back to Cardassia.

“What am I doing?” he thought. “I’m supposed to be touring the Federation right now.” He turned the ship towards Earth. “And if I just so happen to see the wreckage Starfleet picked up from the crash, that would be a coincidence, now wouldn’t it?”


	6. Back and Forth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There isn't a horrible description of violence, but Julian does get pretty badly beat up. Mirror Universe Elim isn't a very nice guy.

“We’re receiving a transmission from our contacts, Captain,” said one of the bridge officers. Elim pointedly ignored the fact that he had not been the one updated, and sent a similar message to the Captain himself. Goddamn Terran. Elim hated him. He fingered his ring.

In his cabin, Captain Bashir received the signal. He stabbed at the contact, and a visual popped up. Captain Bashir scowled into the face of the alien man. His smile was huge and obviously false. His ears climbed in ripples up past his forehead. His black hair was intricately curled, as if he had spent far too much time on it. The alien opened his hands in greeting and smiled wider.

“Captain Bashir,” said the pale face on the screen.

“Weyoun,” Bashir growled back.

Light-years away, Garak was arriving in Federation headquarters. He sniffed. It was too cold here on Earth. But then, anything human was always too cold for him. He stepped off his ship as a crowd formed to gawk around him. He kept his head down and rushed for the building in front of him. The crowd started to press closer. He hoped he wouldn't have a claustrophobia attack. Was it his imagination, or was the air unreasonably thin here? He shoved a small woman out of his way and pushed into the cold building.

Back on the ship, Elim gave an order for someone to knock the prisoner unconscious.

“With the gas, sir?” asked a young Bajoran.

“No,” snarled Elim, “Do I look like I’m in the mood for a bloodless interrogation?”

“No sir,” mumbled the officer. It was almost one syllable, the officer said it so quickly. They turned back to their station and pushed at some buttons. Elim watched as one of the guards left the room with a heavy club. Elim rubbed at his forehead ridges and sighed. It was too cold on this bridge.

On Earth, Garak pushed past another silver door and another receptionist. He was looking for the head of the forensics department. If anyone, that would be who would know best about where Julian could have escaped to. Or if he could have survived at all. He was now in a long corridor. Another receptionist sat by the door. He glared down at Garak.

“I want to see the head of forensics,” Garak said.

“Not in yet,” the secretary said. He looked down on Garak from the, presumably, very tall stool he was sitting on.

Garak glanced around. No use trying to break down the door at the end of the hall. The secretary would just call a guard to stop him. Garak huffed out of breath and started pacing.

The ship: Elim was watching the security cameras and smiling evilly. He enjoyed these little games Captain Bashir let him play with the double. It was a stress relief after dealing with that awful Terran for years, having to kiss his boots and… the guard was entering the room with the club. Elim’s smile grew bigger.

Earth: Garak watched the small woman from before enter the room. Her hair was askew, and her arms were full of papers. Garak supposed she would be attractive by Earth standards. Far too few ridges for his liking.

She talked with the secretary, who was glaring at Garak between sentences. Garak politely smiled back, but his thoughts were elsewhere. If he wasn’t able to consider this woman as a romantic interest due to her not-being-Cardassian, why was he so desperate to find Julian? He wasn’t yet ready to think about what he wished he could do with Julian. Not even anything…serious, just to hold his hand and feel that warmth… He just wished he could talk to him, as it used to be… He pushed his hands through his hair as the woman cleared her throat.

“Yes?” Garak smiled. He snapped out of his daydream. “I’m here to see the head of forensics. Said to be the most intelligent man in your Starfleet, a parallel to your Sherlock Holmes. Where is he? When will he be in?”

The secretary stifled a giggle. The small woman scrunched her nose. She quirked an eyebrow. “The smartest man in Starfleet?”

Garak nodded, smiling. God, this woman was grating on his patience. He couldn’t wait to never have to speak to her again. “Where is he, madam?”

“Ambassador Garak, it surprises me that you didn’t know I’m a woman,” she said, furrowing her brow.

Garak tried not to be obvious about his embarrassed gulp. The woman tucked a hair behind her ear, glanced over her shoulder, and headed off towards her office. Garak awkwardly started off to follow her. He could almost feel the secretary mocking him.

The ship: blood started running down Julian’s face again. He pondered that he was almost used to it, as he groggily tried to keep his neck upright. Another hit from the club and he decided that he was definitely not used to the blows at all, yet.

Elim frowned at the camera.

“He’s not going down,” said the guard over the intercom.

“Try hitting harder,” Elim said, genuinely confused.

“That’s what you said 20 hits ago.”

Julian wondered why the room was swaying. Oh, that’s right, the headache. His head was beating a tune and reality was dancing along. God this was horrible.

“It must be the gengineering,” Elim suggested, at last. “Let me talk to him.”

The guard leaned down and pushed the communications badge next to Julian’s ear.

“Funny,” Elim said. Julian swam into vague alertness. Garak, is that you? He tried to ask. He couldn’t talk. His tongue was too thick in his mouth. “It’s very amusing that your genetic augments must enhance your senses enough to make each of these… persuasions… much more eloquent, yet that same programming doesn’t let you find the bliss of unconsicousness? Odd. Shame for you,” Elim was saying. Julian noticed that the room was very dark. No, that the room was full of colors. Too many colors. Way too many colors. God his head hurt.

“Keep going,” Elim said to the guard. He relaxed into his chair. “The Captain was being obnoxious today, anyway.”

The chuckle came over the comm, covering over whatever sounds the prisoner was trying to make.

In his quarters, Captain Bashir was finishing his talk with the Vorta. 

“Agreed,” Weyoun was smiling, “as long as you can deliver the goods.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Captain Bashir said. He was bored with this. “We got him. You have the weapons?”

“The key to both of our futures is in the hands of each other,” Weyoun smiled. Did he ever not put on this horrible face? Bashir hated it. “I feel this is a beginning of a new friend—”

Bashir cut him off and yawned.

Earth: Garak sat across from the woman as she turned on her PADD. Garak flinched. Having already muffed his first impression, he was not looking forward to this. 

“Let’s get started,” the Forensics Expert grinned.


End file.
